What Policemen Like
by a-few-of-these-verses
Summary: "I know a policeman, or I know what he likes." Greg Lestrade unwittingly falls under the Woman's spell. Two-Part story.
1. Chapter 1

The Woman was Greg's secret. Looking back on it, he couldn't believe how vulnerable and stupid he really was when they met.

He and his wife had been separated for two months. It was tough on everybody, especially their kids. They tried to split their time with their son and daughter equally, but his uneven work schedule meant that they were spending more and more time with their mother.

Greg had been spending another late night at the Yard. Sherlock had just solved another case for him, which was fantastic, but the paperwork was always left to the officers to fill out. It was nearly midnight when Greg wrapped his coat around him and walked out the New Scotland Yard doors. He had nearly reached his car when he noticed something out of the ordinary. A woman was sitting across the street, massaging her ankle.

"Excuse me? Miss?" Greg called out, hesitantly walking towards her. He could see from the moonlight that her dark hair was pulled back from her face. She was wearing a thin black dress, and from what he could see, she wasn't concealing a weapon, unless he counted the high heeled shoes abandoned beside her. The woman looked up at him when he had crossed the street. She grabbed one of her shoes protectively, and Greg through his hands up in defense. "It's alright," he said in a steady voice. "I'm a DI at the Yard. You can trust me."

The woman slowly lowered her shoe. "I'm sorry, Officer," she said. "It seems like I've twisted my ankle."

Greg knelt down beside her. Her ankle didn't look terribly swollen, but he wasn't a medical expert. He did know that she probably shouldn't walk on it. "Would you like me to get a cab for you?"

"That would be lovely," she answered, flashing a smile. Greg wasn't sure if it was the moonlight was playing tricks on him, or if this woman was as stunning as she looked.

"Greg Lestrade," he blurted, shutting his mouth as quickly as the words had spilled out.

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"My name is Greg," he said. Greg felt his cheeks flush with color and was glad that it was dark outside. "Greg Lestrade."

"Hello, Greg. I'm Irene Adler," the woman said. Her eyes seemed to sparkle like the stars.

Greg realized that they were rather close to each other and stood up. "I'll um, I'll get that cab," he muttered before walking down the sidewalk. Every few seconds he glanced behind him to see if Irene was real, if she really was waiting for him on the curb. When he looked, he found her returning his gaze.

He reached the crossroad and threw his arm out to the passing cabs. One pulled over for him, and Greg crawled into the back seat. He directed the cabdriver to where he'd left Irene, and a part of him was surprised to see her waiting for him until he remembered her ankle.

"Ah, my knight in shining armour has returned upon a noble steed," teased Irene, slowly standing up.

"Oh, no, let me help," Greg climbed out of the cab and guided her arm over his shoulders. "Just put your weight on me."

Irene nodded and let Greg help her settle into the cab. He stood awkwardly, wanting to go with her, but not wanting to seem too eager at the same time. Irene seemed to sense this and smiled. "Aren't you coming with me?" she asked sweetly. "I'm going to need some help getting up my stairs."

Greg tried to keep himself from smiling too much. _Don't read too much into this_, he thought to himself, _it's really nothing._ Still, it was more than what he had felt with his wife for ages. "Yeah, sure," he said as he got back into the cab. "Whatever you need."

The ride to Irene's place was mostly silent, the radio in the cab providing the only noise. Greg felt his heart beat a quickening taboo. He was very attracted to this stranger, but knowing his luck, their time together would soon be over.

When they arrived at Irene's address, Greg paid the cabbie before opening the door for Irene. Leaning against him, she led him to her front door. Irene slipped her key into the lock, and Greg heard a light click.

"Would you care to stay?" she asked, flipping a light on.

"I shouldn't," Greg answered, looking around the foyer. "My car's back at the Yard."

"That's a pity," Irene said as she turned to face him again. She walked towards him, her limp gone.

In the light, Irene was just as beautiful as Greg had thought her to be, and he felt the temperature of the room rise. "Is your leg feeling better?"

Irene looked down and grinned. "Yes, I suppose it is." They were now face-to-face, and Greg could almost taste the sweetness of her breath. She drew closer to his ear and wrapped a hand around the front of his coat. "Stay."

Years of warnings against strangers and his police training left Greg's mind when Irene's lips slid against his, and he felt himself succumb to the mysterious woman.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg clicked 'save' and returned his phone to his pocket. "I guess I need to be serious now," he said, shutting the bedroom door behind him. "What happened?"

"I think it would be easier to tell you what didn't happen," John confessed as they walked down the hallway.

"What do you mean?"

"We were supposed to retrieve something, but um, we nearly got killed instead. I know your crew is working on it over there, and you should probably get back soon. Thanks for helping me with Sherlock."

"It's no problem, John. I still have no idea what he was saying, but-" Greg's eyes caught something peculiar on the kitchen table. He stepped closer and saw Irene staring back at him. She was stark naked. "Where did you get these?"

"Mycroft gave them to us," John said, walking to the table. Greg leafed through the photographs. They were all of Irene in provocative poses, and all displayed the text, 'The Woman'.

"Why did, why did Mycroft give you these? And where are they from?"

"They're from her website, and Mycroft gave them to us because she's blackmailing-" John paused. "I can't say who she's blackmailing, but it's somebody important."

Greg felt like he was going to be sick. He leaned against the table and studied the photos again. "She's a dominatrix? No, that just can't be..."

"Sorry, what?"

The word 'possible' was frozen in his mind. It could very well be possible that she was a dominatrix. The odd hours that they met, the secrecy she kept surrounding what she did. He was the complete opposite around her. He told her about his job, the cases he worked on. At first he only told her these things when they were in the bedroom, but soon he found himself answering her texts about work.

"I was, um, going to say that wasn't possible, but I'm starting to get the gut feeling that it is very possible and probable."

"What are you-" Realization dawned on John's face. "No. No, Greg, not you. She said that she knew a policeman... Greg, what have you told her?"

"Nothing, really," Greg answered, putting his hands over his face. "I just told her about a couple of weird cases, but, oh God, I'm an idiot."

"How did you two even meet if you didn't know she was a sex worker?"

"I thought she was genuinely interested in me, I really did. We'd been seeing each other for about two months. And I suppose that instead of payment, she got the cases. Did she drug Sherlock?"

John nodded, and Greg groaned. "Go back there," said John. "I've got it covered here, I can handle Sherlock."

"And I've got to go back there and- oh God, John, you said there was blackmail?"

"Yeah, why?"

"As far as I'm concerned, there are no pictures, but-"

"There could be," John concluded. "Well, try not to see her anymore. Make up an excuse, but try not to make her mad."

Greg smiled weakly. "Yeah, maybe. Don't tell Sherlock, John. I'd never hear the end of it."

"Your secret's safe with me, don't worry."

"Thank you," Greg said before turning around to walk down the stairs. With each step he felt a stab of regret for ever meeting The Woman. He was just a lonely man, eager to show off, but what was the price he would pay?


End file.
